


Faces of the Past

by QueenHRK



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Memories, Museums, Painting, Promises, Sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 10:17:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15241215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenHRK/pseuds/QueenHRK
Summary: The reader is a museum director and stumbles upon a new painting and an old friend from her not so recent past.





	Faces of the Past

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys it's been awhile since I last wrote something, but I have recently finished watching Merlin for the billionth time. I got the idea while looking through pictures of people who found paintings in museums that look like them. Hope you enjoy this, and if you want more parts tell me! Also if you want my to write something send in a request. Thanks for reading! ~ H

My breath caught in my throat. It wasn’t supposed to be here. It couldn't be. It was supposed to have been destroyed along with other priceless artifacts during the Nazi reign, but there was no denying that the painting was authentic. I could recognize the brush stroke anywhere. I could never forget the way the way the artist was able to capture every last detail from the woman's face and clothes to the background and scenery. It was even more beautiful now than when I last saw it, even through aging, yellowing, and the grime now covered it you could see the amazing artistry and the colors held up even through their fading. Staring at the painting I couldn’t help but look into the eyes of the woman that at one point I had known well. I stared into those beautifully painted iris and they stared back.

The painting shouldn’t be here. There was no coincidence that the painting, that painting ended up here, in this museum, my museum. Coincidences didn’t happen on scales this large. At least not to me. I didn’t even realising I was running away; I didn’t realise patrons were staring and judging me. I didn’t realise what my body was doing, not until I had locked myself in my office. 

With my eyes wide and breathing heavy, I looked around the room. Nothing here was new or out of place. I finally took a deep breath and relaxed slightly. I walked over to my desk and pick-up one of the few relics I housed in the room with me. This one wasn’t the same as the others though. Other historians have told me that the artifact was unimportant and worthless. It may not seem important to anyone else or to history, but to me…to me it was my world. The small worn red handkerchief could be from anyone or anything, but I  knew and it was something I would never lose. It was the one thing I won’t let get lost in history. It meant to much to me and my past for me to allow myself to leave it behind. I clutched the frayed fabric to my chest and slid to the floor trying to calm down.

I couldn’t bring myself to leave my office for the rest of the day. I had tried to distract my mind all day but my thoughts kept wondering back to the painting and the handkerchief that I had sat next to computer.

The only reason I left my office, was because it was my job to lock up the museum and double check to make sure everyone had left the building. I walked through the entire museum, avoiding the hallway that housed the new painting for as long as I possibly could. When it was the last hallway I had to check, I took a deep breath before walking down the hall. It wasn’t until I was upon the painting did I notice the man around my age standing in front of the painting. I am not quite sure as to why I didn’t notice him earlier, maybe my dread was clouding my thoughts or just my thoughts were distracting me too much to notice, but he was there nonetheless. 

“Sir? I’m sorry to inform you, but the museum is closing. I have to ask you to leave, and come back tomorrow,” I spoke up, startling myself slightly. My voice you could tell was strained, from not talking much today, and the fact I was standing in front of the painting and the woman’s eyes were once again staring at my very being. I was startled even more when the stranger spoke, he didn’t turn towards me, no he kept staring right back into the eyes of the woman, almost as if challenging her, “Sorry, my lady. I was just marvelling at the magnificence of this beautiful painting,” it was now that my heart had stopped and the man turned to me and looked at me with a look just as burning as the woman’s if not more so, before continuing with a lighthearted joking voice, “I was wondering just when you had come to possess the painting again?”

It was then and there that I felt the world crashing around me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breath. I couldn’t see. All I could do was feel the stares from both the man and the painting bearing down on me. The woman’s stare was slightly less pressing, now she seemed more sympathizing with her soft (h/c) hair pulled into an updo from that medieval time, her (s/c) skin shined healthily, her dress that was made from the finest blue silk and had the prettiest gold and silver embroidery,  and those eyes that had been haunting you all day, the pure (e/c) eyes. 

Shaking I look back up at the man haunted by his presence, noticing that in my panic I had fallen to my knees. When we last met, he was a broken man. He had said that he didn’t want anything to do with me. He had left me a broken woman. Now he stood there before me with a look I couldn’t place….I could never place him, he was always a mystery to me. I watched him slowly kneel down next me and hold out a hand to me. I ignored it and stood up, trying not to think about his jet black hair or his perfectly pure blue eyes. 

“Why…...why are you here,” I whispered out, cringing as my voice sounded even more broken than it did before. Getting up the courage, I stared straight into his eyes and tried to glare, but I doubt it worked, it had been too long of a day. He was quiet for awhile, just watching my face as if just taking in my appearance and trying to figure out what to say next, before he spoke, now not meeting my eyes. 

“(y/n) I was wrong, I should have nev-”

It was then that I snapped and interrupted him malice in my voice, “No, I’m sorry,  _ sir,  _ but I have to ask you to leave. It is closing time and it has been a long day and I would like to go home now.”

I now know for sure that I was glaring daggers at him, because he had that lost, hurt look on his face that he got when I used to glare at him. He opened his mouth again, but before he could get a word out I briskly walked past him heading towards to front entrance, knowing he would follow me. 

Once I got to the front door, I ripped the door open and motioned for him to leave. He looked at me with pleading eyes, and I had to cross my arms, close my eyes, and look down towards the floor so I wouldn't cave into him. After what seemed to be hours of feeling is eyes burning holes into me, I felt him walk past me slowly. I didn't move from my stance to even acknowledge him. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at me. This time I couldn't stop myself from looking back up into his eyes. He gave me a small smile before he spoke for the last time that night.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, (y/n)..... I hope you like my donation to the museum, I fought hard to save it so I could give it back to you,” and with that he turned and walked away. I watched him walk away until I couldn't see him anymore. I sighed and locked up before walking back to my office, plopping myself right into my seat and grabbing the red handkerchief and holding it up to my face as the tears started flowing.

“Goddammit, Merlin….”


End file.
